This Time Forever

by Linda Swift

  For a long moment they stood, warm brown eyes lost in the depths of cool deep blue, then the captain made a visible effort to break the spell, and spoke softly. "Charmed."

  Clarissa gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and carefully withdrew her hand. The captain was tall and lean; his dark beard didn't quite conceal the hollows of his cheeks and some force she had never felt before made her want to reach out and smooth the weary lines from his handsome face.

  "Gentlemen, I'm sure you are anxious for us to vacate the premises so that you can get on with your preparations to receive the wounded. I believe I've covered everything, but I'll stop by in the morning and be sure you have what you need. So, if you've no further questions tonight, we'll just be on our way to Rossville now."

  "There is one thing, sir," the captain spoke again as he set his shot glass on the tray Luke held. "I've recently lost my medical assistant and I'm in urgent need of a replacement. Could you suggest—"

  "I could be your assistant," Clarissa said quickly.

  "Clarissa!" Florence looked stricken. "What are you thinking of?"

  "Forgive my daughter-in-law, Captain," Josiah said in an indulgent tone. "She has formed a Soldier's Aid Society and done a splendid job with it, but I'm afraid she is not aware of the requirements of a surgeon's assistant."

  "But I could do that, Father Wakefield!" Clarissa took Josiah's arm. "It would be a chance to really help our cause. Lots of women are giving aid to the wounded. There's Dorothea Dix and Sally Tompkins and—"

  "Lieutenant," a soldier stuck his head inside the front door. "The wagons are here. Shall I have them begin unloading?"

  "Father," Lydia wailed, "we must leave at once."

  "Now, Lydia, calm yourself." Josiah patted his daughter's arm, then explained to the lieutenant, "She lost her husband in battle, you know, and this is very upsetting for her."

  Florence, looking as distressed as her daughter, spoke to the butler. "Luke, would you ask Napoleon to fetch our trunks to the carriage?" She turned to Lydia. "Tell Polly to bring the children down at once." Then she frowned at Clarissa. "I know you want to help, dear, but it wouldn't be proper for a lady to stay here in this house with a bunch of—of—"

  "Sick and dying men?" Captain Burke supplied.

  "Sick and dying men. You'd have no chaperone and—"

  "I'll stay, too," Angeline cut in. "It would be proper with two of us here, wouldn't it?"

  Josiah shook his head. "Your patriotism is admirable, my dears, but I'm afraid—"

  "Fa-ther, the wagons are in the drive." Lydia rushed down the stairs wearing her cape, followed by Polly and Ruane, carrying the little boys. "We've got to leave at once! If these—these misguided angels of mercy insist on staying, let them stay!"

  Florence looked at her husband beseechingly as she took the cloak Lydia had brought. Luke stepped forward to assist her as she put it on. "Yes, let them stay, for now. I'm sure one night will change their minds."

  "Please, Father Wakefield," Clarissa added. "You can come back tomorrow, and we'll discuss it then." Perhaps she would have only tonight to help the captain and the suffering men who were waiting outside, but she felt compelled to stay.

  Josiah made one last attempt to persuade his daughter-in-law to change her mind. "Clarissa, I appeal to your good sense. Robert must not stay here. Do you want your son to go to Fleur-de-Lis without his mother?"

  Clarissa almost wavered as she looked at the little boy she loved more than anyone in the world, held protectively in the arms of her faithful servant. "Polly will take care of him."

  "Well—" Josiah said again, then shrugged, and turned to the lieutenant. "I will hold you personally responsible for the safety of my daughter-in-law and her sister."

  "Yes, sir." Lieutenant Johnson nodded vigorously and turned to the captain. "You will see to that, Captain Burke."

  "You have my word of honor, Lieutenant," Philip told him, then bowed slightly to the woman who had done battle with a man of immense authority, and now stood before him victorious.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chattanooga, January 1863

  As the medical wagons began to unload the wounded, a state of chaos descended on Whitehaven. Stretcher-bearers and servants bumped into each other in their efforts to transfer the men to the available cots. The confusion was increased by Captain Burke's insistence that the men be washed and changed into fresh clothing before they were bedded down on the clean muslin sheets, both of which had been provided by the largess of Josiah Wakefield. The Whitehaven slaves, as well as the few able-bodied soldiers accompanying the patients were commandeered for the task, and when it was accomplished, all were fed generous portions of hot soup and bread. Harriet, Betsy, and Angeline, who had been banned to the kitchen during the bathing, took charge of serving the famished soldiers.

  Meanwhile, Philip had appraised the layout of the house and decided on the library as the room most suited for performing surgery. Since it had doors that could be closed, it might be possible to shield the other patients from some of the horrifying sights and sounds that were associated with his work. And he would place the most seriously ill in the adjoining music room where he could keep a closer watch on them as well. A piano, too heavy for moving, had been left in one corner, and he looked at it with nostalgic longing.

  "I'd like you to remove enough books from these shelves to make room for the medical supplies I saw on the dining room sideboard," he instructed Clarissa.

  When she returned with her arms full of bandages, she saw that he had confiscated a pan of water from one of the attendants and was busy washing the grime from his face and hands. He had removed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves and she could see the bulging outline of a bandage on his shoulder.

  "You were injured in the Battle at Stones River, Captain Burke?" she asked with lifted eyebrows.

  He shrugged. "It's nothing." He dried himself before he spoke again. "First, we'll work on the men who may have developed gangrene en route from the battlefield."

  She nodded gravely and continued with her assigned chore. And even as Philip gave his attention to other activities, he was acutely aware of the woman who shared the room with him. Each time she lifted books from the shelves, her breasts rising beneath the chaste bodice of her dark green gown, he felt an erotic stirring and willed himself to give his full attention to his job.

  For a moment, Philip eyed Josiah Wakefield's heavy oak desk which, being too cumbersome to haul up the stairs, had been pushed against a wall next to the fireplace. Then shoving it away from the wall, he motioned for his new assistant and asked. "Are there quilts and a sheet I can use here? And newspapers for padding between the two?"

  "Surely there are enough cots—"

  "This is where I plan to do surgery."

  "Oh," the woman answered with a slight quiver in her voice which betrayed her outward calm. Perhaps she was losing her courage already. "I'll see."

  Philip stood looking after her, wondering if Clarissa Wakefield would be of any help at all or if she'd prove an added hindrance as well as a distraction. She was a striking woman, tall, well-formed, with carefully-coiffed blond hair and large brown eyes that gave her an aura of genteel femininity, neither of which were traits he was seeking in Jeb McCallon's replacement. But she had been determined to volunteer, so he'd see if she could meet the test of a good assistant.

  Shortly, she came back with what he'd asked for, and together they folded the handsome quilts across the desk top, protected them with a rubber blanket from his provisions, added a thick layer of newspapers, and finally, stretched the sheet on top.

  "I need a basin of hot water," he told her.

  "I'll ask a ser—"

  "No," he shook his head, "the servants are busy tending the men. A surgeon's aide keeps a supply of water ready for washing the instruments. And changes the bloody sheets when necessary, and," he looked at her intently, "disposes of the severed limbs." She blanched, and he asked quietly, "Can you do that?"

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sp; She lifted her chin and met his intense gaze. "I can do that." She turned and went toward the kitchen and soon returned with a large pan, sloshing its contents as she struggled to set it on the hearth. Philip forced himself not to offer his help. He couldn't do the work for both of them. If she didn't measure up, he'd have to ask for someone else to train. This was no job for faint hearts or weak backs, and she might as well know that from the start.

  He opened his pannier and began to lay out instruments and medicine, naming each thing and its use as he did so. He had an adequate supply of ether and chloroform to ease the trauma of surgery and with clean quarters and nutritious food now available to his patients, he fully expected the mortality rate to drop.

  "Well, I suppose we may as well get started," he looked at Clarissa and realized that her dress was ill-suited to the task ahead. "You'll want to put on an apron, I think."

  She shrugged. "Water won't hurt this fabric."

  "I was thinking of blood."

  "Oh." Again, she paled and grabbed a long piece cloth from the shelves and wrapped it around her, then attempted to tie it in the back."

  "Let me." Philip stepped closer, and caught the scent of roses as he bent to tie a knot in the makeshift apron. A wisp of her hair, as soft as silk, brushed his forehead and a tightening in his groin returned. He reminded himself there was work to be done.

  "I'll tell you what to do as we go along," he told her. "Now, wash the instruments and lay them here beside the table while I get our first patient."

  As he walked from the room, Clarissa became aware of his slight limp and her curiosity about the cause of his injuries increased. Perhaps he'd been captured at Stones River.

  Clarissa shivered at the sight of the hacksaw and long knives with serrated blades, but maintained her outward calm as she followed the captain's instructions.

  With the help of a servant, Philip brought a delirious soldier to the table. The man's thigh was swollen so large his trouser leg had been split to accommodate it and the stench was overpowering. He glanced at the woman who stood at his elbow, but her face was immobile. So far, so good.

  He wet a cloth with chloroform, held it to the patient's face. "Scalpel." He held out his hand and she placed the instrument in it without hesitation. "Hold the basin close."

  He cut the skin and scraped a mass of maggots from the wound, dropping them into the basin. When he had finished, she flung the contents into the fire and rinsed the basin.

  The chloroform was wearing off, and Philip told Clarissa to administer more as he poured alcohol into the wound to cleanse it, then placed a bandage from knee to ankle. "Perhaps we've saved the leg. A few more hours will tell."

  This time, he took Clarissa with him to bring the next patient. Walking through the rows of cots, he consulted with the few soldiers who remained, most having gone back to their companies. Some cases didn't require immediate attention; those, he postponed until morning. Clarissa watched as he examined each patient, explaining the nature of the wound or illness and why he made each decision.

  Back and forth they went, dealing with each urgent case in turn, as the hour grew late. Then, pulling back the bloody sheet on a cot in the final row of the music room, he saw a sight that filled him with dread. How had this one been overlooked when the companies had retreated from the field? The inflamed flesh of a shattered arm hung loosely from the man's shoulder and his feverish face and shallow breathing made it clear there was only one thing to do. His aide had shown surprising strength and courage so far, but this would be the ultimate test.

  Motioning for the stretcher, he said in a low voice, "We'll have to amputate."

  Her only response was a quick indrawn breath.

  The man was only partly conscious, and that made it easier to administer the ether. Calling for the scalpel, he cut through the remaining tissue and muscle, then took the saw.

  "Hold steady, now," he said, and as Clarissa gritted her teeth and held on tightly, Philip's blade sawed through the bone and the man's arm was left unattached in her hands.

  At first, she stared at it in horrified disbelief, then swayed, and for a moment he thought that she would faint. He'd seen men pass out at less than this. But she straightened her shoulders and took the arm to the refuse tub they'd placed beside the door leading to the veranda. Then, she was back at his side, supplying the instruments he requested for stitching and bandaging the remaining stump. God, she was some woman, this elegant looking Southern belle. Better than the men he'd worked with, except for Jeb.

  "Good job," he said, and she acknowledged the compliment with that slight tilt of her head he found so charming. "Wash up and get some rest, now. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Where will you sleep, Captain?" she asked.

  "Here with my patients." He nodded toward the door where a Confederate soldier stood watching. "And my guard."

  Angeline was waiting, half-asleep, on the bottom step and the two sisters climbed the stairs together.

  "Well, did you help with..."

  Clarissa nodded.

  "Was it...awful?"

  "It was the most awful thing you can ever imagine," Clarissa said slowly, "but the captain was so calm I didn't dare let him know how scared I was. And I proved to him I can do it and not faint or be sick. So maybe he'll want me to stay."

  "Oh, sister, can you believe it? We'll be nursing soldiers just like Dorothea Dix and Sally Tompkins." Her face clouded. "That is, if Mister Wakefield will permit us to stay."

  "How can he refuse when he sees how much help we can be to the Confederacy?"

  Clarissa bade her sister goodnight and prepared for bed. Bone tired but too stimulated to sleep, she lay awake in the darkness, thinking of all that had happened since she'd met the handsome Union surgeon. She knew he was the enemy, and as such only worthy of her scorn and revulsion but that was not what she felt!

  Because of her inexperience in such matters, Clarissa didn't have a name for what she was feeling. Her husband had legally raped her on their wedding night and their physical relationship since had not improved. Malcolm took his pleasure and left her feeling assaulted and used. His lack of consideration and gentleness had prevented the development of her passionate nature so that she had never felt physical desire for a man, and didn't recognize her feelings now as such. She only knew that when Captain Burke had touched her, she'd experienced a strange sensation that made her want something she couldn't define. And the nameless wanting had caused her to stand up to her father-in-law, and send her son away without her, and hold a man's severed arm without flinching. It—whatever it might be—was both frightening and exhilarating. And she knew instinctively that her life would never be the same again.

  • ♥ •

  Philip awoke in his new surroundings and thought that he was back in Oswego. For a moment in the darkness, he wondered why he was lying on a bed roll instead of his four poster, and then he remembered the reason he was here. It was the first time in a very long while that he had been enclosed by walls with a roof overhead, safe and warm. And these spacious rooms, even stripped of their elegant furnishings to make room for the cots, reminded him of home. He had been dreaming of Katherine, caressing her voluptuous figure, suckling at her breasts, thrusting himself deep into her pliant body…and he was fully aroused on waking.

  But his first conscious thought was of Clarissa Wakefield. She was an enigma—this paragon of Southern womanhood. She had grace and charm and beauty, and yet she was determined, and brave, and competent. He doubted that her husband's father would permit the two sisters to stay on at Whitehaven, and perhaps one night of it had been enough for both. But the idea of having a woman for his assistant was intriguing.

  His thoughts turned to Jeb McCallon, dying in that inconclusive battle on a desolate frozen field, and he felt again the overwhelming sense of loss that his aide's death had left. Surrounded by the protecting walls of Whitehaven, Philip wished that Jeb were here, cursed the bloody war, and wished the end would come.

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sp; He listened to the familiar sounds of moaning and snoring and coughing that always accompanied the long hospital nights, thankful that the attendants on watch had seen no cause to rouse him as he slept. Perhaps the effect of Whitehaven had been as therapeutic for them as for himself.

  • ♥ •

  Before daylight, more wagons arrived from Murfreesboro, and the chaos of the night before seemed orderly by comparison. Every Wakefield slave was pressed into service to get the new arrivals settled in and care for the needs of the other patients.

  Clarissa, hearing the commotion below, awakened her sister and urged her to hurry.

  "Angeline, we're needed downstairs. More wagons are arriving. Just put on your oldest dress and leave off your crinolines."

  "Not wear my crinolines?" Angeline was wide awake at the bold suggestion.

  "See, I'm not wearing mine. They just get in the way when we walk between the cots. And anyway, I read that Dorothea Dix has a rule about her nurses not wearing hoops or crinolines."

  "Well, if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me." Angeline bounced out of bed and sloshed water from a china pitcher into its matching bowl. "Ooooooh, that's cold. Didn't Betsy bring—"

  "Betsy is busy helping Harriet, I imagine. We'll have to get used to doing for ourselves and others, if we stay here, Angeline." She backed out the door. "I'll meet you in the kitchen. I'm sure Harriet needs help serving breakfast."

  Clarissa thought of the wagons lining the drive which she had seen from her window. Bodies lying four abreast in the bed of each wagon, others crowded on seats along the side, huddled under ragged blankets for warmth against the cold drizzle. She hastened her steps, anxious to begin her day's work.

  Captain Burke was already busy examining the soldiers who were being brought into the hallway, where the noise and smell of damp unwashed bodies was overpowering. Clarissa's empty stomach lurched, and she was thankful she hadn't eaten.